


Old Time Rock And Roll

by Pink_and_Velvet



Category: Top Gun (1986)
Genre: Accidental Voyeurism, Canon nods, Dancing, Developing Relationship, Dinner Date, Gay sex acts, Ice is singing, Last in the office, Lip synching, M/M, Mav has no shame, Serenade, Stress Relief, Strip Tease, Work stress, just for fun
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-07
Updated: 2019-09-07
Packaged: 2020-10-11 20:20:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,190
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20552126
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pink_and_Velvet/pseuds/Pink_and_Velvet
Summary: Maverick’s having a little wind down, dancing carelessly, in only Iceman’s shirt and socks about his office. He’s not as alone as he thinks.“The hell kindabusinessis this, Mitchell?”“Risky,Kazansky. Risky.”





	Old Time Rock And Roll

**Author's Note:**

> You know, THAT _Risky Business_ dance. It’s about time Maverick did it.. and Iceman. Him too.__

Maverick sat at his desk, boredom singing through his veins. It had been an incredibly long first week back: the class were new and fresh faced, thinking they already knew it all. It was painful but Maverick was getting hopeful, having made his bet and Iceman.. yeah, Iceman was there, too.

He had left the base an hour or so back. Maverick reluctantly let him go, the promise of a delicious home cooked dinner together when he got back to Iceman’s was the only thing getting him through all this administrative bullshit that he knew he should’ve taken Kazansky up on his offer to do for him. Iceman was always much more competent with the boring side to the job but hey, they were both flying. That was what mattered, right?

The head of TOPGUN isn’t around so, fuck it. Maverick changed out of his uniform, sort of. He had robbed one of Iceman’s pristine white button down shirts and he didn’t bother with his jeans or his boots and stood in the middle of his office. He took a final glance out of the window at the empty corridors and then, he strutted to his stereo, cassette in hand and…

He slid away from it, legs apart, hands at his sides. He just about stopped himself before crashing into his desk.

_Just take those old records off the shelf_  
_ I’d sit and listen to them, by myself_  
_ Today's music ain't got the same soul_  
_ I like that old time rock n' roll._

Maverick was violently lip synching, mouthing along with such passion. He was prancing around his office, kicking wildly, pointing at random things and laughing.

As head of TOPGUN, Iceman had let him bring a recliner from his place. So, he jigged over to it, grabbing at the desk lamp along the way: his makeshift microphone.

_Don't try to take me to a disco_  
_ You'll never even get me out on the floor_  
_ In ten minutes I'll be late for the door_  
_ I like that old time rock n' roll._

His hips swayed and his hands clutched at his collar. He popped it, cooly, and ran a hand through his hair. Maverick sprung onto the chair, lamp in hand. He rocked forwards and backwards, rocking out to the track.

He climbed to his feet and jumped, landing on his back, bouncing up and down atop of the recliner. Legs were kicking and arms were shaking, he flipped himself and his whole body convulsed. He was jamming to the beat, limbs slamming, without a care in the world.

_Still like that old time rock n' roll_  
_ That kind of music just soothes the soul_  
_ I reminisce about the days of old_  
_ With that old time rock n' roll._

Taking a hold of his desk lamp, the words rolled of of his tongue with force. He was grinning like Iceman would- a huge Cheshire Cat smile as he again rose to his feet.

He did a weird little kicking thing and manoeuvred his sweaty body back to the centre of the small space.

A throat was cleared and a husky baritone, wretched and strained, matched those of Bob Seger.

_Won't go to hear them play a tango  
I'd rather hear some blues or funky old soul_

Maverick froze.

_There's only one sure way to get me to go  
Start playing old time rock n' roll._

He slowly turned, eyes wide and chest heaving. Maverick was met with civvies, crossed arms, a raised blonde eyebrow and pursed lips.

Iceman. Shit.

He darted towards the stereo, to cut off the track. But Iceman, damn him, has longer legs and so, the song continued.

To Maverick’s even bigger surprise, Iceman kept singing, voice beautiful and holding its own against the track.

_Call me a relic, call me what you will  
Say I'm old-fashioned, say I'm over the hill_

Iceman was blushing, slightly. Whether it was from the intensity of his singing or, at the sight of Maverick in only a shirt and socks… Maverick wasn’t sure. He himself was blushing like mad. He was flustered, confused and he turned away from Iceman.

“Seriously, this is what you get up too in your spare time, Mitchell?” Iceman was laughing throughout. “You’ve really outdone yourself. This makes that little bar serenade look like horse—“

“—Fuck it.”

_Today's music ain't got the same soul  
I like that old time rock n' roll._

Maverick stormed over, hips swaying to the beat and his hands descended straight to Iceman’s jeans. Iceman’s belt.

“The hell kinda _business_ is this—“

“_Risky_, Kazansky. Risky.”

Iceman cocked his head, rolling a retort about but Maverick carried on speaking.

“—Oh c’mon Kazansky, you know you love it.”

Iceman’s hands didn’t bat his own away. He tugged at his zipper.

“I’m not—.”

“—Yeah, you are.”

“Don’t make me—“ Iceman added after a beat.

“—What Kazansky? Let those frosted tips down a little.”

Iceman hesitated but, fuck, he was grinning. He had a blush high up on his cheeks.

“No chance in.. shit.” Iceman’s jeans were ripped from him. “Mav, I’m not.”

“Oh yeah.” Iceman interrupted and, he was handed the lamp. The microphone.

Maverick simply raised his eyebrows as he strolled back to the stereo. He restarted the tape.

“It’s easy, Ice. Nobody cares about what you look like.” He held up a hand to Iceman’s pissed face and, he commenced with his slide.

_The_ slide.

Iceman was laughing and laughing, eyes trailing all over Maverick’s body: his muscular, exposed legs and then, shit.

Maverick’s hands enclosed around his and Iceman was dragged into the head.

“Now Iceman, you’re a part of this number!”

Iceman followed Maverick’s strange movements, clutching at his heaving chest through his laughter when Maverick jumped, turned and leapt at him. He crooked a finger and Iceman, was lured in.

Together they ‘danced’ well, Iceman danced. Maverick did his thing and together, they rocked out to track after track. Soft rock, sure it wasn’t always Iceman’s taste as such but the sight of Maverick in nothing but a shirt and socks was worth it. His shirt. Wait.

“You’re wearing my—“

“—Yup.”

“Not good enough, Mitchell.”

Iceman pounced at him, quick fingers making short work of the buttons. He stripped Maverick of his own shirt and gasped.

_Still like old time rock n' roll_  
_ That kind of music just soothes the soul_

Perhaps it was because Maverick was much shorter and his ass was pretty much covered but, when in holy hell had he taken of his briefs? How has Iceman missed that? Iceman hadn’t a clue. But now, that didn’t matter. Iceman’s own shirt and boxers followed.

”What the fuck, huh Mitchell?”

Maverick winked. “You got it Kazansky. Sometimes you’ve just gotta say: what the fuck.”

_I reminisce about the days of old  
With that old time rock n' roll._

How Maverick had any energy left for anything after his little dance recital was beside Iceman. He was truly at a loss.

So, Iceman decided to do what he knew he did best: throwing a naked and very turned on Maverick atop of his own desk and following him down. 


End file.
